A knock sounded on their door. Alana jumped as Eleanor opened it. Sir Roger nodded at them. “The earl wishes to see Mistress Alana,” he said.
Alana’s anxiety spiraled uncomfortably. “Come with me,” she said to Eleanor, taking her hand.
The two women followed Sir Roger down the narrow stairwell. Hard male voices could be heard from within the great hall. One was Duncan’s. The other had to belong to the great Earl of Buchan.
They had reached the threshold. Alana faltered and stared.
There was no mistaking the Earl of Buchan, and not because he was well dressed in the fashion of the French and English courts, his rings gold, the hilt of his sword bejeweled. Middle-aged and gray of hair, he emanated power and an air of command. He instantly turned to stare at them.
“Lady Fitzhugh and Mistress le Latimer,” Sir Roger said, but informally.
Buchan stood alone with Duncan, not far from one hearth. Her father was not with them.
Buchan smiled. “So you are my niece.”
Alana nodded and curtsied. “My lord.”
Buchan paced over to her, his gaze filled with speculation. “I remember your mother, Mistress Alana. You so resemble her.” He spoke firmly, but not unpleasantly.
Alana did not know what to say.
“She was very beautiful. And you are from Brodie Castle? The place that was once your mother’s?”
Alana nodded, her gaze glued to his. He did not seem ruthless. He seemed kind. “Brodie was my mother’s dowry, my lord.”
“Yes. I recall that. But the circumstances of your birth prevented you from having a claim. Duncan tells me you are twenty, and unwed.”
She so hoped the subject of witchcraft would not arise. “I am not wed.”
“So my brother has forgotten you,” he said flatly.
Oddly, she felt that she must defend Sir Alexander. “He tried to arrange a marriage, some time ago.” She dared ask, “My father is not with you?”
“He is on his way,” Buchan said. “But no marriage was arranged.”
She felt certain she knew where he led. “No.”
“Because no man wishes to wed a woman who can see the future?”
She flinched. “No man wishes to marry a woman like myself.”
“What do you mean, Mistress Alana? Speak plainly.”
She felt her cheeks heat with shame. “I have the sight,” she whispered. “I am thought to be a witch.”
He studied her in silence then. “So it is true,” he finally said. “You can foretell the future.”
“Sometimes, my lord.”
“Sometimes? So you have visions, sometimes? At will, Alana?”
“No, they are never at will.” She hesitated, feeling desperate. “I wish I had no visions, my lord, but they began when I was a small child.”
“How do you know that they are visions? Do they always come to pass?” he asked.
She bit her lip. “Yes, they always come to pass.”
“Give me an example, Alana.”
